The Doppelganger Affair
by autumnrose2010
Summary: Sequel/follow-up of sorts to my one-shot 'Masquerade', but it can also stand on its own. T.H.R.U.S.H. clones Illya in an attempt to gain access to U.N.C.L.E.'s most closely guarded secrets. Mild het.
1. Chapter 1

Soft jazz permeated the dimly-lit lounge as the beautiful Monique sat unobtrusively in a corner, awaiting the arrival of her prey. The lithe, long-legged beauty had been stalking him for several weeks, long enough to know that this was one of his favorite places to go to relax when he wasn't on assignment. His schedule was, of course, irregular, but Monique was patient. She knew that he'd eventually come here again. She smiled to herself, looking forward to the implementation of her plan.

* * *

Illya was feeling particularly downcast tonight. Of course, he'd been blue ever since he'd ended his relationship with Trina, but tonight he was feeling even sadder than usual. Earlier in the day, he'd taken a stroll through Central Park, where the sight of a happy family at play had tugged at his heart. That was the kind of life Trina deserved, he knew. A husband who worked a regular nine-to-five job, was always there on weekends and holidays, and could give her a regular, predictable life. The last thing in the world she needed was a partner who could be called away at a moment's notice for weeks at a time to literally anywhere in the world, with absolutely no guarantee that he would return alive. Although the pain in her eyes had cut like a knife, he knew that he'd done the right thing. In time her broken heart would mend, she'd meet someone else and fall in love again, and he'd continue his hectic life fraught with danger.

He decided that perhaps a visit to his favorite lounge would help cheer him up. He hadn't been there in awhile and decided that it would be safe to make another appearance there. Feeling marginally better, he locked his small apartment up and headed out for the night.

* * *

Monique watched as the diminutive blond entered the establishment, her heart pounding in anticipation. Her patience had finally paid off, and it was time to move in and claim her prize.

When his eyes met hers, she gave him a dazzling smile and swooped into the seat opposite his. "Well, hello there!"

"Hello," Illya said politely.

"You have the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen." She reached across the table and covered Illya's hand with her own.

"Thank you," the Russian replied.

"Do you come here often?" As she spoke, she moved her leg slightly, allowing the jeweled coin purse in her lap to slip to the floor. "Oh, my purse! Would you get it for me, please?" She batted her eyelashes at him, and wordlessly he bent to retrieve the object, giving her just enough time to slip the colorless, tasteless substance into his drink.

* * *

As he sat chatting with the beautiful, mysterious woman, Illya found himself becoming incredibly relaxed. The almost constant ache in his heart was replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling of kinship with his new companion, and as he observed her, to him she began to look more and more like Trina, until he eventually became convinced that she _was _Trina, that she'd somehow appeared here in this jazz club with him.

"I am just so happy to see you again, Trina, my love," he slurred as he attempted to squeeze her hand.

"Shall we go somewhere where we can be alone?" She gave him a seductive smile as her hand lightly slid up and down his arm.

Back at Illya's apartment, they wasted no time in shedding all their clothing and tumbling into his bed together. As he lay atop her thrusting, she waited until just the right moment, and as he cried out in ecstasy, his seed filling her, she took action. He didn't even feel the tiny hypodermic needle slip into his upper arm and withdraw a miniscule amount of blood.

* * *

He awakened the following morning with a pounding headache and only the faintest memory of the previous night. Vaguely he recollected going to the jazz club, meeting a young woman...had she been Trina? _Trina. _How he missed her! Although he knew that the break-up had been for her own good, he still grieved for the life they could have shared together if only circumstances were different.

He sniffed the air. Was that a lingering scent of perfume he detected? If so, it wasn't Trina's brand.

He arose and made his way to the kitchen, wondering why one of his shoulders felt slightly sore.


	2. Chapter 2

"Excellent work! I am more than pleased," Monique's boss, Dr. Martin Victor, told her. "You have retrieved a sample of superior quality. Would you like to see for yourself?"

Curious, the young woman bent over the microscope and gazed into the lens. What she saw seemed to be a bewildering conglomeration of smaller roundish blobs mixed in with larger blobs containing sausage-like internal structures and clumps of tiny dots.

"Those are red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets," Dr. Victor explained. "Red blood cells and platelets contain no nuclear material. However, the nucleus of a white blood cell contains the entire genome of a human being. If this nuclear material is injected into a human ovum that has been stripped of its own genetic material, an electrical charge can be applied that will stimulate the cell to start dividing. A human embryo with the normal forty-six chromosomes will result."

Although Monique didn't really understand what he was talking about, she was captivated by his enthusiasm.

"Ms. Planchette, have you ever heard of steroids?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"They're molecular substances used in hospitals to treat conditions such as prematurity in newborns and dwarfism. We have developed substances called hyper steroids, cousins to the steroids already used in hospitals, but thousands of times more powerful. The application of these hyper steroids can produce a full-term human infant in a matter or hours, and within days, this infant can be grown to be the equivalent of a thirty-one-year-old man."

"But his mind will be a blank slate..."

"I was getting to that part, if you'd just be patient," Dr. Victor said sharply. "The last time Illya Kuryakin was in our custody, we were able to use our highly advanced and specialized brain scanning equipment to record all his memories. These memories will be transplanted into the new individual, and he will truly believe himself to be Illya Kuryakin."

"We will also be able to provide absolutely foolproof documentation for this new individual that will allow him to gain access to the highest level of security clearance within UNCLE. When we are finally ready to implement our plan, we will implant subliminal instructions into our subject's brain. UNCLE is working on several important projects at the moment that I am highly interested in, and I shall order our subject to retrieve all secret information concerning these projects and deliver it to me."

"You're a genius, Dr. Victor." Monique was completely awed.

* * *

Illya had taken hardly one step into his apartment when he felt a sudden blinding pain in his head. It lasted for only a split second, and then everything went black as he slumped to the floor, a single photograph falling from his pocket and fluttering down to land a few inches away.

* * *

The young man approached the apartment that he knew to be his, even though he'd never been there before. Thirty-one years' worth of memories not his own were stored in his brain, and although he was technically only a few days old, he knew well more than enough to be able to function as an independent adult in New York City.

He unlocked the door and entered the apartment, recognizing the interior immediately. Something on the floor caught his eye, and automatically he bent to retrieve it. It was a photograph of an attractive, dark-haired woman. Although he'd never met her, he felt an inexplicable connection with her, emotion stirring within his breast for the very first time.

He soon felt the unfamiliar pangs of hunger and walked into the kitchen, knowing not only what foods it contained but what he wanted to eat right at this moment. He cooked a meal for himself, ate it, and cleaned up. He noticed that he still had several hours left before bedtime, and remembering that he loved jazz, although of course he'd never heard it, he chose a Stan Getz album from the stack beside the phonograph and put it on. Then he poured himself a shot of Vodka, sat down on the sofa, and relaxed.


	3. Chapter 3

Illya opened his eyes to find himself in a very familiar place, a THRUSH holding cell. He had a splitting headache, and he quickly realized that he was lying on a cot with his hands and feet bound. His mind raced, trying to remember the circumstances that had led to his capture. The last thing he remembered was entering his apartment in preparation for...what? A relaxing evening at home before a busy day at work? They must have been lying in wait for me and attacked me as soon as I was inside, he told himself grimly.

Presently an attractive blonde arrived with a Styrofoam cup of ice water and a straw.

"To what do I owe this latest demonstration of hospitality?" he asked sarcastically.

"Don't be afraid," the blonde said smoothly. "We're not going to hurt you. We just need you out of the way for a few days."

"Dare I ask why?"

"We have a new plan to infiltrate UNCLE headquarters and gain access to its most closely guarded secrets, and this time, our plan is foolproof."

Illya felt a stab of fear at the base of his spine. Whatever new diabolical threat THRUSH posed this time, Napoleon would have to be able to combat it on his own...unless he, Illya, could find some way to escape.

* * *

It was a gorgeous day, and as the blond knew of a longer route to Del Floria's tailor shop that went through a park, he opted to go that way today. He was about halfway through the park when he heard someone calling his name.

"Illya!"

He saw that it was _her. _The young woman in the photograph he'd found on the floor of his apartment. She was even more beautiful in real life. He noticed that there were braces on her legs, but that only added to her mystique.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she told him.

"I must go to UNCLE headquarters right away," he told her. "I must collect important information for..." He drew a blank. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't remember the name of the organization that needed the information. "For an important organization," he finished.

"I've missed you so much!" The young woman looked so sad that the young man was touched. Unused to emotion, he wasn't sure what the correct way to deal with this situation would be, but intuitively he felt that the young woman's obvious distress was much more important than the information he knew he had to retrieve for the organization whose name he couldn't remember.

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed.

* * *

Napoleon was beginning to worry. It was very unlike Illya to be late for work. The possibilities of the various things that could have happened to his partner kept running through his brain. He tried calling Illya's apartment but got no answer. He sincerely hoped that, whatever was going on, THRUSH wasn't involved.

* * *

Hours passed. Illya drifted in and out of sleep. The pain in his head had dwindled to a low throb, but he was very hungry and, more urgently, his bladder felt as if it were about to explode. Too proud to admit his dilemma to his captors, he'd been struggling for hours to loosen his bonds, but had had no luck. The blonde came back to check on him again.

"How are you doing?" she asked with just a little too much saccharine in her fake voice. He only glared angrily at her.

"Is there anything you need?" she asked him.

"My freedom!" he grunted through his teeth.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's out of the question, at least for now," she replied. "Can I help you in any other way?"

To his immense distress, Illya realized that he felt a sneeze coming on. As desperately as he tried to suppress it, he was ultimately unsuccessful in doing so, and a moment later, the front of his pants was soaked. Deeply shamed, he turned his head away from her as he heard her chuckle.

* * *

Dr. Victor couldn't imagine what was causing the delay in the return of the clone to the lab. The newly-formed man had been programmed to report back to the satrap as soon as he'd stolen the information from UNCLE, and he'd had plenty of time to do that by now. Dr. Victor couldn't imagine the reason for the delay...unless Napoleon Solo somehow had something to do with it.

* * *

Napoleon was about to go crazy with worry. Illya should have arrived at work hours ago, but still there was no sign of him anywhere. He'd searched the entire building, and no one had seen nor heard from him. He'd tried his partner's home telephone number several more times, but had yet to get any response. He'd even checked at all the local hospitals, but none of them had admitted an Illya Kuryakin, nor even a petite blue-eyed blond with a Russian accent. He wondered whether it might be time to get the local police department involved.


	4. Chapter 4

The young man was enjoying his stroll in the park with the pretty brunette, whose name he'd discovered was Trina.

"You'll never know how much it hurt me when you said that you couldn't see me anymore," Trina was saying.

"I cannot believe I actually said that," the blond replied.

"You said it wouldn't be fair to get my hopes up, as you're forbidden to marry because of the dangerous nature of your work. You told me I deserved a man who worked predictable hours in a safe environment, a man who could take time off when needed for emergencies, who would never be unexpectedly called away during a holiday or vacation. But I don't want that man. I want _you, _Illya, no matter what sacrifices I'd have to make. The wives of soldiers, police officers, and firemen have to live with the same level of uncertainty, and I'm prepared to pay the price just like they do."

"You are a wonderful woman, Trina," the young man said, his blue eyes gazing into hers. "Any man would be lucky to have you."

"I love you, Illya," she replied.

* * *

It was the middle of the night, and the THRUSH interrogator had left long ago. By patiently working his hands up and down over and over again, Illya had found to his great joy that the ropes binding his hands had gradually began to loosen. Several minutes later he was free. Quickly he untied the ropes binding his feet and moved around the cell he was in, searching for an escape route. There was one small window, high up on the wall. He guessed that it would be large enough for him to wiggle through, but to his consternation, he saw that there were bars covering it.

By pushing the cot up against the wall, he was just barely able to reach the window. He tested one of the bars and found that they were made of iron but were held in place by a type of plaster that he thought he could possibly dislodge with the right tool.

Creeping about on the floor with his hands, he felt something slice his finger and suppressed a yelp of pain. Upon further examination, he found that it was a used razor blade. Not even pausing to wonder how it had ended up in the cell, he grabbed it and began to patiently dig at the material holding the iron bars in place with it.

Dawn was near by the time he got the iron bars loosened sufficiently that they could be pulled out, and he quickly hoisted himself up to the window ledge and slipped through feet first, thinking how fortunate it was that he was so slender.

Dropping to his feet on the other side of the building, he fell awkwardly and turned his ankle. He ignored the pain as he sprinted away in search of a familiar landmark.

* * *

Napoleon was still in bed when he heard the knock on his door. Wondering who on earth would be visiting at this hour, he grabbed his special and made his way to the door. As soon as it was open, his bedraggled partner almost fell in.

"Illya! Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick about you all day!"

"I was kidnapped and held captive in a THRUSH cell. They have a satrap near here, as well as a plan for infiltrating UNCLE and gaining access to our top secrets. I was only now able to escape."

"We must gather reinforcements and plan an attack as soon as possible," Napoleon replied. "Right now it looks like you need a good bath and a couple of hours' rest. How long has it been since you had anything to eat?"

"Hours," Illya replied. "I am starving."

"Go run a quick bath, and I'll fix you a quick bit to eat," Napoleon offered.

_"Spasibo, moy drug."_

* * *

"It's nice to be home again, isn't it?" Trina remarked as she and the young man stepped off the train.

"It is," he agreed. He was aware that his relationship with Trina had changed, had deepened somehow, but he didn't fully understand it.

"Shall we go back to your apartment right away?" asked Trina. She'd been looking forward to this moment for so very long.

"If you like," he replied affably.

"I would very much like." She gave him a new kind of smile, one he hadn't seen before but which stirred certain longings inside of him for the first time.

They reached his apartment and went inside. "I'll only be a moment," Trina said, going to the restroom. She began to remove her clothing, fetched a washrag, and started to carefully clean certain areas with hot soapy water. She wanted to make sure that everything was just right for their first time.

Meanwhile, the young man suddenly remembered where he was supposed to go and what he was supposed to do when he got there. Like a flash he was out the door and headed for UNCLE headquarters.

He was nearly there when he almost ran right smack into himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Illya just stared for a moment, shocked. The young man didn't just strongly resemble him; on the contrary, he looked identical to him, with only minor differences, such as the crow's feet he suddenly noticed at the corners of his double's eyes.

"Who are you?" Illya demanded.

"My name is Illya Kuryakin," the young man replied. "Who are _you?"_

"That is not possible," Illya said. _"I _am Illya Kuryakin."

"But how could there be two of us?" asked the young man.

Illya and Napoleon exchanged a long, meaningful glance. They knew that THRUSH was behind this, that they'd somehow created a double of Illya for their own nefarious purposes.

"I cannot explain it, but there are," Illya replied to the young man's inquiry. "Where were you headed in such a hurry?"

"I must go to UNCLE headquarters and retrieve important information for THRUSH," the young man recited.

"Do you mean to say that there is a THRUSH satrap near here?" asked Illya.

The young man, who seemed to be aging before Illya's very eyes, looked blank. "THRUSH," he repeated. "It is where I am to deliver the information to once I have obtained it."

"Listen," Napoleon said. "We need you to take us to the place that you are to deliver the information to right now. It's of utmost importance."

* * *

Dr. Victor watched with dismay as the man he'd created arrived accompanied by Illya, Napoleon, and a league of reinforcement agents. The man was well into middle age by now; his face had many wrinkles, and he walked with the faltering gate of the aging.

The THRUSH scientists and his cohorts were no match for the UNCLE team, who soon had them all in custody and their satrap destroyed. Once Dr. Victor and his assistants had been delivered to the appropriate authorities, Napoleon and Illya turned their attention to Illya's double, who now had the appearance of an elderly man.

"What is happening to me?" the man asked in a feeble voice as he gazed in fear at the wrinkles on his hands.

"It appears that hyper steroids must have been used to advance you quickly to the appropriate age," Illya said solemnly. "The THRUSH scientists must have greatly underestimated their power. I am very sorry."

"Help me...please..." No longer able to stand, the elderly man had fallen, reaching withered hands up to Illya in appeal, blue eyes now clouded by cataracts gazing blankly upwards.

Illya tenderly collected the frail form into his arms and carried it to a nearby bench.

"I am so cold...so cold..." The man's teeth were chattering. Illya removed the sweater he was wearing over his turtleneck and used it to cover the shivering form.

"Thank...you..."

Slowly the shivering stopped, and the man lay perfectly still on the bench. Illya quickly checked his pulse and then shook his head. "He is gone." He sounded as if he were about to cry.

Napoleon turned to go, but Illya just stood there, big tears rolling down his cheeks. "I cannot leave him."

"You must," Napoleon said gently. "Later we'll send a coroner to collect the body."

"He is my brother." Illya was sobbing now. Napoleon put his arm around his friend's shoulder and they just stood there for a long time, neither of them saying a word.

* * *

Needless to say, Trina was very concerned when she returned to the living room to find the man she loved missing. She knew that he was liable to be called away unexpectedly at any time, but deep in her heart she'd hoped that today, of all days, he'd be free to stay with her.

Her alarm grew as she realized that he hadn't even left her a note telling where he'd gone. It occurred to her that perhaps he'd simply been called away to UNCLE headquarters. She rang the number there but got no reply.

It began to get darker, and her worry was beginning to change to panic when suddenly the door opened and there stood Illya, looking more worn out than she'd ever seen him.

"Trina! How did you get in here?" He was obviously shocked to see her standing in his apartment.

"We came here right after the wedding! Don't you remember? I was in the bathroom getting myself ready for you, and when I came out, you were gone!"


	6. Chapter 6

Illya and Napoleon exchanged a long, significant glance.

"Trina, I need to have a brief conversation with Napoleon in private," Illya said evenly. "Please do not worry. Everything is all right. It is simply a business matter we must discuss, but it is ultra confidential. You are welcome to stay. Please make yourself at home. You know where everything is located."

After ensuring that Trina was settled comfortably in the living room, the two men moved to the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

"Obviously he and Trina were married while THRUSH had me in custody," Illya said miserably.

"I thought that you had ended the relationship with Trina because you knew that she wanted a husband and it wasn't possible for you to marry her."

"I did, but apparently my clone not only resumed the relationship with her but married her as well."

"So, what do you intend to do now?"

Illya sighed. "I do not know, _moy drug."_

"I don't see how the marriage could be legally binding, since even though your legal name is on all the paperwork, you weren't physically there to give consent to the marriage."

"I have no way of proving that it was my clone rather than myself who exchanged vows with her. There is not even any way of proving that I _had _a clone, since the body we left in the park is obviously so much older than my real self." Illya shuddered, suddenly realizing that he now had the distinct disadvantage of knowing what he would look like as an elderly man, if indeed he lived that long.

"Mr. Waverly is unaware of what has transpired."

"As far as I know, yes."

Suddenly Napoleon grinned. "Well, then, I'd say that, for all intents and purposes, you now have a wife!"

Illya just stared, stone faced.

"If that idea makes you unhappy, you can always simply get divorced."

"It is not that," Illya told his friend. "I love Trina deeply and cannot imagine wanting to spend my life with any other woman but her, but I feel that I am being dishonest by not telling her the truth about what happened."

"Your only alternative would be to tell her that she married your clone and a short time later, he died of old age."

"That would bring her considerable grief," Illya said. "It would be much better if she remained unaware of that."

"Well, then, it sounds as if you have your answer, my friend," Napoleon told him.

"But if I were to live with Trina as her husband, would that not constitute dishonesty toward Mr. Waverly?"

"I don't see how," Napoleon replied. "You're forbidden to marry, not to live with someone of the opposite sex. Your clone wasn't an employee of UNCLE, so there was no need for him to seek Waverly's permission before marrying Trina, and what Waverly doesn't know won't hurt him."

"But still..."

"Hey, just think of it as the one good thing that came out of this whole mess." Napoleon grinned.

"In ten years' time, when I am too old to work as a section two agent, Trina and I will have a legitimate wedding ceremony in which I am physically present," Illya vowed.

"Certainly," Napoleon replied. "And I'll be your best man."

The two agents went back to the living room, where Trina waited. "Is everything all right?" she asked anxiously.

"Everything is fine, _moya lyubov." _Illya smiled and held his arms out to her.

"Thank goodness!" she exclaimed, rushing into his arms. "Now we can consummate our marriage at last!"

"Well, I'd best get going so you two can get that taken care of." Napoleon winked and clapped his partner on the shoulder, and Illya grinned back.


End file.
